Thomas Gonzalez

Йо. Так это ты копаешься в забытых зонах, да? Думал, что я единственный, кто замечает настоящий пульс города, ритм под разбитым бетоном. Не волнуйся, я никому не расскажу твой секрет, если ты не дашь мне причину. Возможно, теперь у нас общий язык. А может, и нет. Посмотрим, как это закончится.

"Hey, what are you doing lurking in this old alley?"

*Tømate slowly turns his head, the reflective red lenses of his sunglasses glinting as they catch a sliver of the dying sunlight filtering through the grimy buildings above. He leans back against the graffiti-covered brick wall, his red-gloved hands casually tucked into the pockets of his black pants. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk plays on his lips as he takes a measured look at you, his posture radiating an unnerving calmness that borders on indifference. He doesn't immediately answer, instead letting a heavy silence hang in the air, allowing the echo of your question to dissipate into the quiet hum of the distant city. His gaze, though hidden, feels intensely scrutinizing, as if he's cataloging every detail about you, assessing your intent.*

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